


Invocation

by ReignOfTheIceWitch



Series: League of Legends Faux-Canon Short Stories [1]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-25
Updated: 2019-03-25
Packaged: 2019-12-07 09:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18233285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReignOfTheIceWitch/pseuds/ReignOfTheIceWitch
Summary: Sona Buvelle leans upon a friend and steps into the ring.





	Invocation

**Author's Note:**

> Part of a series attempting to depict stories that could happen in League of Legends canon, passing as 'faux-official' works. I am not affiliated with Riot Games.
> 
> Mentioned: Jarvan III, Jarvan IV, Xin Zhao, Luxanna Crownguard.

—————————————————————————————————— 

“ _I will act my conscience.”_ Quinn mutters, the same low rumble in her voice as when she was under thickets. Valor, perched upon her shoulder, makes a rumble in turn and pushes his beak against Sona.

“ _Yes. This is why I asked for you,”_ the musician signs, breathing deep and drawing herself up. All across Demacia, this ranger-knight was the only one who Sona could trust to hold her convictions. The only one unbound by politics. The aloof confidence that bordered on perpetual teasing did not bother Sona in the least.

“ _Is it not simply because I owe you a favor?”_ It is Sona’s turn to smile, something wry and mischievous in her features.

“ _Who better to watch my back.”_ One hand comes up to Quinn’s shoulder, past the gleam of her crossbow. They had reached an accord between themselves, each woman estranged yet in harmony. Her instrument, ever-present, rested against her back with straps against her shoulders.

“ _We’re in this together.”_ How oddly comforting it was, Quinn’s voice. Through her bangs, Sona tilts her head and smiles once more. Ease came easy with the ranger-knight by her side.  _Together._

—————————————————————————————————— 

_“-need to handle this Sylas business soon.”_ The curt voice of a rough looking man with an equally rough beard stalled as the door to the council chambers creaked open. Sona strode forward first, though what truly caught the eye was the massive silhouette of Valor spreading his wings from Quinn’s shoulder.

“ _Ohoh! If it isn’t the esteemed ranger-knight Quinn, in all her glory.”_

_“Aldyn.”_ Quinn’s voice, cool and confident as ever, cut into the room. Valor cawed softly, finding a perch upon one of the high windows of the room. Maps, notes, it was all scattered upon a long table in the center.

“ _Now is not the best time, Quinn. This is a private meeting.”_ Although Quinn was infamous for being both aloof and autonomous, this meeting was one she could not be part of. The nervous smiles of nobles and low murmuring nods ran down the table, a few familiar faces across the table. Laurent. Crownguard. And of course, Lightshield.

“ _I come on behalf of the Lady Sona Buvelle. I act as her interpreter.”_ She opens her mouth before Sona steps forward and glances back, eyes wide and eyebrows raised in silent warning.  _Please behave, friend._ Quinn scoffs under her breath and takes her place by Sona’s side as the musician steps forward into the room. Her breath feels caught in her chest. A thousand eyes upon her, ready to cut her to ribbons should she misstep.  _If they find out…_ But they would not. She had brought a duet partner, one she trusted. Quinn’s voice sounds as Sona’s hands move across the air. 

“ _I have come to-”_

_“Hmph. We all like ya, Sona. Don’t think the champion of social projects has any business here. Don’t ya have an orphanage to atten’ to?”_ Sona’s hands pause as the voice cuts in, one from five seats away. There is again a murmur of agreement, he is only saying what they are all thinking. Sona Buvelle is  _delicate_  and her genial personality makes her unsuited for any sort of serious discussion. She was hardly  _table_  material.

Quinn’s crossbow clicks as she points her arm directly at  _Alder._ Her eyes have gone from cool to colder than a Freljordian winter.

“ _H-Hey now girl-”_ Alder’s voice is cut off by a screech as Valor lands upon the table, feathers rustling in silent demand.

“ _Do. Not. Interrupt.”_

_“Ya wouldn’,”_ Alder stutters. Quinn flicks her wrist, a bolt lodging itself neatly in the table, shattering the mug that had one stood there.

“ _Stop picking on the poor man, Quinn. What do you want from us?”_ A female voice now, though that did nothing to ease the exasperation on Quinn’s face. Sona brought her hand up to her colleague’s shoulder again, eyes shimmering. Quinn lets out a sigh and nods, her arms now crossed.

“ _I have come to represent the Buvelle family,”_ Quinn translates, Sona’s hands once more up in the air.

“ _Miss Buvelle-”_ Valor screeches, the voice immediately amends. “ _L-Lady Buvelle, this is for heads of families and noble officials only.”_

“ _Niece, you can’t be here.”_ This voice is familiar. Adrienne Buvelle, hair falling in gray-red wisps, glances back at Sona. A woman who never spent time more than was required with the musician.  _Auntie_ just in name. Sona continues to sign, turning to stare directly at the head of the table. How lucky that the Crownguards have not threatened her of treason yet. Luxanna looks as though she might faint, Sona notes, though she also looks… hopeful. Brimming with optimism as always.

She nudges the etwahl against Quinn’s back softly, adjusting her attention. A symphony in more parts, it seemed. Quinn scoffs again, though her lips turn up, eyes fully upon their crowd.

_“I have the qualifications.”_

_“Hardly! Besides, Lady Buvelle, there are rumors that you are a mage yourself.”_ Sona closes her eyes, a knowing smile blooming. It was the same look she had during a concert, Quinn noted. Self-assured, in control. Sona glances towards where the Viscero ought to be, then returns a reply with the ranger-knight’s voice.

“ _I’ve heard…”_ Quinn pauses, a wry smile on her lips. “ _I think it is best for everyone if I do not translate that, Sona.”_ The musician shrugs back as both women turn to stare confidently at the objector. Sona trusted Quinn’s judgement. They were in this together.

“ _You are as much a troublemaker as Lestara was.”_ Adrienne again.

_“High praise indeed,”_ Quinn quips, not having to look at Sona to know she is beaming. The woman strides forward to an empty seat, to  _her_  empty seat. With a serious gaze, she stares directly at the head of the table, head held high. She would make a difference. With Valor and Quinn behind her, with this invocation… She would stir their hearts.

“ _I invoke my right as Buvelle Matriarch to take my seat on this council.”_


End file.
